I was in Seclusion for so long that everyone forgot about me

In a beautiful mountainscape deep within the eastern hill forests of the Silva Hercynia lay the capital of the witch queendom—Walpurgia. The city was named after its founder, Walpurgis II. von Teufelsbach.

The kingdom was small, but its remote location and the powerful wards along its borders made it nearly impossible to conquer. Even after countless attempts, no one had ever advanced more than a few thousand feet into its territory. And should anyone manage to go further, only a cruel death awaited—delivered swiftly by the War and Grand Witches.

But even they couldn’t compare to the High Council of the Titled Witches. Feared across all five continents, their names were etched into history with reverence and dread. The queen herself, Laticia—one of the youngest among them—had once eradicated an entire neighboring empire in a matter of days after their rulers insulted her ambassadors, calling them uneducated peasants. That act alone earned her the title ‘The Witch of Harmony’.

Though she held the crown, most decisions concerning the queendom were made by the High Council. The queen retained the power of veto, but rarely used it. The day of their gathering was known, almost ironically, as the Witches’ Tea Party. And by chance, one such meeting was underway right now.

They were seated in the Academy of Witchcraft, in the highest tower beneath the headmistress’s office—in a circular chamber centered around a large round table and cushioned high-backed chairs. Despite the expectation of a full assembly, not every seat was filled. Out of seventeen titled witches, only ten had decided to attend. Even the queen’s own mother, Walpurgis, had chosen not to show. Still, a gathering of ten was rare enough that Laticia felt quietly pleased.

“So,” she began, addressing three witches directly, “what does the school administration think about all this?”

The first to respond was Headmistress Ithi, ‘Doyenne of Alchemy’. “I can’t say I’m not worried about recent events,” she admitted, her tail twitching faintly, “but the academy battles are still important. Especially if we want to show young witches across the world that there’s a place they’re welcomed—and loved—for what they are.”

Ithi belonged to the Cat Sith, a humanoid feline race. She was, incidentally, also their accidental creator. Over ten thousand years ago, during an early attempt to brew a transformation potion, she miscalculated the formula. The result: she and everyone nearby were turned into what would become the Cat Sith. While they initially sought a cure, the new form grew on them. Over time, it became their identity. Millennia later, the Cat Sith were known for their magical aptitude, especially in alchemy and enchantments. Though rarely taller than four feet, their graceful feline appearance remained particularly popular among beast-kin.

“I… also agree,” said Alexandria, ‘Keeper of Knowledge’, her voice soft but certain.

Laticia’s gaze drifted toward the third member of the trio, who appeared to be staring blankly into space. “Babel?”

The witch, who looked no older than nineteen, blinked slowly and tilted her head, as if just realizing where she was. After a few confused seconds, her eyes found the queen.

“Oh, sorry, Lati-hun. Still waking up,” she said with a long yawn.

What most people never realized was that Babel was the oldest witch present. The only member of the council to hold two Titles—'Hubris of Wisdom’ and ‘Matron of Discord’—she was said to have been the root cause behind the downfall of the first empire. And, more annoyingly, she almost always looked like she'd just rolled out of bed.

“Can I at least get an answer?” Laticia asked, holding back a sigh. “You all have to agree on this.”

Babel gave a lazy nod before her eyes slid shut again and she slumped back into her chair. Laticia frowned. But as far as Babel’s standards went, that was a full endorsement.

“Fine. I’ll work out the details with Ithi later. Does anyone else have a question or objection? Otherwise, this concludes today’s meeting.”

“Ugh, finally,” came an alluring, husky voice from across the table.

“Jeanné…” Laticia groaned, already massaging her temples. “I know you hate these meetings, but could you at least try to respect your peers?”

“Oh, come on. We don’t even have tea here,” Jeanné snapped, stretching with casual disregard. “At least let someone bring a decent drink. I’m dying of thirst over here.”

Jeanné, ‘Arbiter of Flames’, was as hot-blooded as her title suggested. She led the Sisterhood of Judgment—witches tasked with hunting down those who violated their laws. Whether criminal, rogue, or warlock, they pursued their targets until justice was served… or the target was confirmed dead.

“She’s not wrong, you know,” said a mellow, almost musical voice.

“Not you too, Glacia…” Laticia sighed. “Besides, do you even drink tea?”

“Not really. I prefer red wine,” Glacia von Nacht answered evenly. “But still. For something called a Witches’ Tea Party, don’t you think it’s appropriate?”

Glacia, titled ‘Moonless Starlight’ after the silent ice spell she created, carried an aura as cold as her magic. But beneath it, she was warm-hearted, if perhaps a bit too rational for her own good. Still, crossing her with ill intent was a mistake few lived to repeat—she showed no mercy to her enemies.

“Glacia, stop bothering the youngster,” said a gravel-voiced old woman from the far end of the table.

“Thank you, Krone,” Laticia muttered.

“It’s alright, dear,” Krone replied gently, a motherly look softening her face. “Just because you’re the third-youngest doesn’t mean we shouldn’t respect your authority.”

Krone, the ‘Eldritch Witch’, was the second-oldest among them. She rarely left her secluded mountain estate, where she devoted her time to studying the mysteries of Forgotten Magic—an entire branch of sorcery that vanished after the final battle with the Eternal Witch. No one understood how or why it disappeared. Even Alexandria couldn’t explain it—half her archives had simply vanished overnight, along with the legendary Endless Library. Without divine intervention, the world might have collapsed entirely. And even with their help, it had taken nearly a millennium to stabilize.

Yes, the System made everyone stronger. But Forgotten Magic had been something else—equally powerful, maybe even more so. Krone was convinced that someone with access to both would be capable of challenging the deities themselves… or becoming one.

If only Eternal hadn’t gone completely mad—twisting her experiments with hatred and paranoia. Sometimes Krone still wondered where Eternal had come from. The stories of the ‘Origins’ were mostly myth, but even back then, no one had claimed to know her. Had someone else brought her into this world?

Her thoughts were cut short by the sound of a familiar snarl.

“Yeah, right. If she wants respect, she should earn it first,” came the dry, rasping voice of Cegua, ‘Whispering Death’. “Let’s stop wasting time and finally wipe out those damn naga and dwarven empires. That would earn my respect.”

Krone barely resisted rolling her eyes. She really couldn’t stand that one—no respect for tradition, no restraint, and definitely no regard for the rest of the Council. Cegua only ever showed respect to Nari Lartha, ‘Blooming Flower’, and Gretel, ‘The Confectioner’. If only her old friend Yaga, ‘The Wanderer’, were here to deal with her.

“Pleasse,” hissed a voice from the left. “Let’s not have that discussion again. And aren’t you being just a bit specist here? We do have naga students at the academy, don’t we?” said Kulam, ‘The Vindictive Witch’, her expression as irritated as her tone.

“At least I’m not Eternal,” Cegua snapped back.

Kulam gave an exaggerated eye-roll. “Technically true, but that’s not the point and you know it.”

She stood up, brushing off her robes. “Honestly, what is your problem with them? They—”

She was interrupted by a knock on the heavy oaken door.

Every witch turned to look.

The silence that followed was sharp and tense. Absolutely no one was allowed to disturb a Council meeting—not even another council member would dare.

“Enter!” Laticia snapped, her voice sharp with royal authority.

The door creaked open, and a young Grand Witch stepped nervously into the room. The instant she saw the eyes of the High Council upon her, she flinched. Tears threatened to rise already.

“Oi, Circe,” Jeanné said with a smirk. “Isn’t that one of yours?”

Circe, ‘Siren of the Seas’, slowly turned her gaze toward the girl. Her tone was low, disappointed, but cold. “Barbara… why are you here?” she asked. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? Do you know how badly you’ve embarrassed me walking into this room without being summoned? Even we don’t interrupt each other at this level.”

"I'm s-s-sorry. W-we got an emergency call from the embassy in King’s Garden," Barbara stammered, trying not to cry under the weight of ten legendary gazes.

"So?" Ithi muttered, unimpressed. "If you thought it was urgent enough to interrupt this, I hope it’s something like the death of the damned Emperor."

"Uh... honestly? I th-think it’s more i-important than th-that."

"Then say it already!" Circe snapped.

Barbara nodded quickly, still shaking. “Y-Yes! It’s about an honorary witch—someone our ambassador had never heard of before—who appeared in the capital. The embassy received a report directly from Marika.”

The name got their attention.

“A-Apparently,” Barbara continued, her voice trembling, “s-she witnessed a b-being... a thirteen-tailed f-fox-kin—c-casually transform into a h-human. A-And she s-said that same b-being used a spell that m-matched your transfiguration magic, L-Lady Circe.”

Circe froze, the color draining from her face.

Barbara hesitated before adding, “Sh-she also s-said the witch w-wore a... a h-hat. W-With a r-rainbow crow’s f-feather in it.” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper on the last words, as if even saying them felt absurd. “L-Like... that’s even real, right?”

There was a beat of stunned silence—then several witches leaned forward at once, their expressions twisting in disbelief.

“H-Huh?!”

“No way—what?!”

“Wait—a rainbow crow feather?!”

The table rippled with gasps, blinking stares, and even a nervous laugh from somewhere that died too quickly.

Laticia stared hard at Circe. “Okay... Circe. Please tell me you didn’t break one of the Old Rules. You do remember we only pass our Original Magic to direct proxies, right?”

“I haven’t taught that spell to anyone!” Circe shot back, throwing up her hands. “I swear! I don’t even remember ever passing that on!”

Krone tapped the table, slow and deliberate, her expression tight. “Then how does she know it?”

Circe’s frustration flared. “Forget the spell—what about the hat? The feather? There shouldn’t be anyone alive who—”

Her voice caught. The words died in her throat. Her eyes drifted to the far wall, unfocused, caught on a memory.

“It can’t be,” she murmured.

Laticia narrowed her eyes. “What can’t be?”

Circe closed hers. “A long time ago—before I hated humans—I loved one. He betrayed me. Tried to kill me. I barely survived. Only your mother, Babel, and Krone ever knew. But what I never told anyone…”

She opened her eyes again, quieter now.

“Someone saved me. A woman without a name. She wore a witch’s hat—adorned with a rainbow crow’s feather. She came out of nowhere and tore them down before they could finish me off.”

The room went still, but this time it was a cold, weighty stillness.

Jeanné looked around, voice low with disbelief. “Hold on. Nearly all of us who were alive before the Arrival of the Divines are sitting at this table. Who the hell was that? Did we ever even have an honorary witch like that?”

Krone’s face had gone pale. “You’re not saying…”

Circe nodded once, slowly.

From the end of the table, Babel—who hadn’t moved for some time—opened her eyes just enough to murmur: “It was her.”

Laticia stood sharply. “Her who? Who the fuck are we even talking about? Who’s out there copying our spells and wearing that fucking feathers without being killed by us already?”

“She wasn’t just honorary,” Babel said softly. “She was… a friend.”

“Friend of who?” Cegua snapped.

“Eternal,” Babel replied, her voice flat.

“No way,” Cegua said immediately. “Absolutely fucking no way. She had a friend?”

Laticia dropped into her chair. The others looked equally shaken, their expressions pale or unreadable.

“I thought she died when Eternal was sealed,” Krone said quietly. “But if she’s alive…”

Her voice trailed off as realization bloomed in her eyes.

“Knowledge,” she whispered. Then louder, the word turning sharp, almost panicked: “She might still hold Eternal’s Forgotten Magic!”

Every witch at the table flinched. They all knew exactly what that meant.

“She’s too dangerous to leave alone,” Laticia said, her voice cold now. “If she was close to Eternal—if she uses her magic—she might be just as dangerous. And if people see her running around in a witch’s hat, you know they’ll blame us.”

“We can’t risk another Great Witch Hunt,” Krone muttered.

Laticia rose up. “Jeanné. Take your best subordinates. Find her. Bring her here. I don’t care how.”

Jeanné stood immediately, face sharp and focused. “Yes, my Queen.”

She turned on her heel and left without another word, dragging the still-stunned Barbara with her.

The door slammed behind them. The silence that followed was thick and heavy. The Council wasn’t often caught off guard. And yet.

Laticia rubbed at her temples. “Let’s hope this doesn’t spiral. She can’t be that strong… right?”

Circe didn’t answer immediately. Her voice was quiet when she finally did. “When she saved me… she was already stronger than me.”

Laticia stared at her. “Great.”

Then—without warning—the air above the table shimmered. A sharp twist of pressure, a sound like folding cloth in reverse, and suddenly a figure appeared mid-air, seated cross-legged as if she'd been floating there all along.

Ithi muttered under her breath. “What now…”

“Oh, hon. Don’t be like that.” The voice was airy, singsong, and entirely unbothered. “Am I late~?”

The witches looked up at once.

Of course it was her…

Aurora, ‘The Riftwalker’, hovered lazily just above the table, a teacup in one hand and an upside-down parasol in the other for no apparent reason.

Laticia groaned, rubbing her temples. “Of course it’s you. We were just finishing. Jeanné left to track someone who might’ve been Eternal’s—” she paused, forcing herself to correct the thought, “—friend.”

Aurora tilted her head, sipping from her empty cup. “Oh! You mean The Wyrtweard?”

The moment the word left her mouth, a chill swept through the room. Each witch froze. The pressure in the chamber twisted, just slightly. There was a beat of dizziness. Something… slipped.

Laticia blinked, squinting as if the word had vanished from her ears before she could grasp it.

“What did you just say?” she asked, voice suddenly wary.

Aurora grinned. “Did I say something?”

A pause stretched.

“…No,” Laticia muttered, shaking her head slowly. “Never mind. Must’ve imagined it.”

All around the table, the others exchanged confused glances—brows furrowed, lips parted, as if they'd all just forgotten something important.

Aurora drifted down, still floating just above the seat that had never officially been hers.

“Well, if you’re done, I guess I’ll pop back through the edges~.”

Laticia sighed. “Go back to whatever rift you slipped out of.”

Aurora blinked across the table, now seated next to Laticia without visibly moving.

“Whyyyy~?” she whined. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You never follow the rules. Why are you even part of this Council?” Laticia snapped.

Aurora twirled the parasol in her hand and pouted. “Your mother liked me~.”

Laticia groaned, sinking lower in her chair. “And I still don’t know why. You don’t do anything for the Council. Or this country.”

Aurora’s voice echoed—not from her lips, but from the corners of the room, the ceiling, the shadows beneath the table. “I do more than you think~”

Then she vanished—just like that.

No noise. No exit. Gone.

Laticia stared at the space where she had been.

“I really need a drink.”